


Raising Hell

by Thieves_Gambit



Series: X-Force - Hellfire [1]
Category: X-Force (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thieves_Gambit/pseuds/Thieves_Gambit
Summary: A woman back from the dead becomes the unlikely leader of a team of misfits to stop a dark future...





	1. Debts

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-upload of another series that I was working on for a while for a group fan-fic project that fell apart. I decided to keep the first couple chapters but wanted to branch off into something different after.
> 
> So, Chapters 1 and 2 are ones I have published already. Three and on will be new.

A cool breeze blew across the grounds at the Xavier Institute, causing a rustle of prematurely-fallen leaves to float in the air for a moment before being caught by in the grill of an approaching cab. The cab came to a halt and waited for a moment before a door opened.

A woman by the name of Elizabeth Braddock (“Betsy” to her friends and “Psylocke” to the rest of the world) stepped out, holding two things: a small suitcase in her arms and a deep breath in her lungs - the latter weighed more heavily on her. As she let the breath go, Betsy couldn’t help but notice that the grounds around the school were almost completely bare - a rare occasion for the school. With a tighter grip on her suitcase, she walked up the steps and tried the door, but it didn’t budge. As she lifted her hand to knock on the door, it swung open by itself.

As Psylocke, Betsy has faced down world-ending threats and even died defending her friends from such threats, but nothing would have prepared her for the dread she felt when she saw what was on the other side of the door.

“Betsy?” Neal Shaara, AKA Thunderbird, stood before her. A lifetime ago Betsy called him her lover. Maybe even something more.

For a moment, no one said anything. They just stood there, letting memories of one another flood the air like noxious fumes.

“How have you been?” Neal asked, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, I’m alive,” Betsy said with a slight grin. “And yourself?”

“I’m well,” he replied with a half-smile that quickly melted away. “Listen, I don’t know if you’ve heard…”

“I’ve heard,” Betsy said. “I’m happy for you, Neal. You and...um….”

“Heather.”

“Right,” she said and shook her head. “I'm sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he replied. The smile faded as they stood in silence, unsure what to say to each other after all that had happened.

“Betsy?” a voice said from behind Neal, causing him to turn sideways, letting a large figure through the door. Lucas Bishop walked through. He looked at her, stone-faced, through a pair of crimson sunglasses. “You’re early.”

“Early for what?” Neal asked, his head ping-ponging from Betsy to Bishop.

“She and I are meeting with Scott after the assembly,” he said, and checked his watch, “which should be ending in a few minutes. Do you two need a couple?”

“That’s okay, Lucas.” She smiled at Neal. “Say ‘hi’ to Heather for me.”

“Will do, Betsy,” Neal said and went in for a hug, something Betsy wasn’t prepared for. “Maybe we can go out sometime and really catch up. All three of us.”

“Right…” Betsy said, remembering how naive Neal could be about certain things.

The two left him at the door and continued through the Xavier Mansion. Bishop offered to carry her suitcase, but Betsy politely declined.

As soon as they were far enough from the door, Betsy said, “Was that...weird? With Neal, I mean.”

“Betsy,” Bishop said, leading her up the stairs. “I come from a future where the X-Men were killed by a robot that was the child of Magneto and Xavier's consciousness. A place where Remy LeBeau is the most powerful and wise man in the world. I've seen things the Danger Room wouldn't be able to think up.”

He paused.

“That? That was...strange,” he said.

Rather than continue the conversation, she walked in silence and observed the new Xavier Mansion. Everything was new but everything was old. New computers, furniture, and a general layout of the mansion.

But she still felt the ghosts of former lives. The foyer where Warren had once surprised her with flowers. The paintings leading up the stairs that she and Rogue once joked must have been purchased at a thrift store. A notch in the handrail that Logan threatened to “shave down” if the Professor didn’t fix. They were all gone, but Betsy could still feel them. Even the air, she found, still possessed the same rich, flowery smell as if coated in some cologne made to mask everything that had occurred around it throughout the years, for better or worse.

As they entered a hallway on the third floor that ended at an office - Scott’s office - Betsy felt someone watching them. No, just her. Stalking her, even.

She spun around just as a small figure jumped up at her. Her initial reaction was to lobotomize the figure with a psychic knife, but before she could, she realized the figure was small, and hugging her. Betsy looked down and found Laura Kinney - AKA X-23 - was in her arms.

“Bloody Hell, child,” Betsy said, relaxing. “I almost killed you.”

“I’m not a child,” Laura dropped from her and gave her the slightest smirk - one that she had seen Logan wear many times. “And you can’t kill me.”

Betsy matched Laura’s smirk. “Oh, I know a few tricks.”

“Why aren’t you at the assembly?” Bishop interjected.

Laura cocked her head to the side and shrugged. “Bored.”

“Well, you’d better get back before Mr. Summers is finished with his lecture,” Bishop replied. “If he comes back and catches you here instead of listening to Ms. Frost’s talk about the dress code, he’ll be...angry. And I’m not sure your healing powers will even be able to save you.”

Just then, Laura sniffed and an alarming look came over her. She looked to Betsy and said, “See you later?”

“Of course,” she replied as the girl darted into a nearby corridor.

Almost as soon as she was out of sight, Scott Summers, AKA Cyclops, came striding down the hallway with a smile on his face.

“Speak of the devil,” Betsy said.

“Good to see you too, Bets,” he replied, extending his hand for a handshake.

“A handshake?” she said, shaking it. “How formal for an old friend.”

“Sorry, gotta put on appearances.”

“Afraid Emma will get jealous?”

“You just never know when one of your students might be around.” He smiled and glanced towards the corridor. “Shall we?”

Scott unlocked his office and opened the door to let Betsy and Bishop through. The office crowded with clutter and smelled like week-old coffee. The desk, though large, was a mess of papers and coffee mugs, his computer was plumed with different colored sticky notes. But he still found room for a single photo of Emma and him.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the two leather chairs in front of his desk. He walked over to his own chair, lifted a stack of papers from it, and sat. “So, how was your sabbatical?”

“It went well. Spent some time relaxing, meditating, even getting some sun when the weather permitted,” she replied. “But I have a feeling you didn’t bring me here so I could show you pictures of me on the beach.”

In the old days, this may have gotten Scott to blush, but those days were gone. Scott was all business now. “No, I’m afraid this meeting is for a more dire subject.”

Psylocke leaned forward. The room was quiet, the air still like death.

“A week ago, we had a surprise visit from our interdimensional friend, Blink. She was pretty shaken up when she got here. I won’t go into too many details because - to be honest - we don’t have very many right now. Hank’s been monitoring her since her arrival and Emma did a scan of her mind but her thoughts are as scattered as her words.

“As of now, we just have fragments - pieces to the puzzle but no box to help us figure out how they go together to make the larger picture. Certain details are still fuzzy, but there are a few that are crystal clear.”

Scott paused and turned to Bishop. “Wanna take it from here, Lucas?”

Bishop tapped the side of his sunglasses and projected a holographic image of a woman - young, skinny, with long dark hair, and otherwise completely featureless - as if a mannequin. “This is Sandra Espinoza. No one in particular - and by that I mean she literally just popped up out of nowhere. There are no records of her even existing up until a few days ago - believe me, I checked. But for whatever reason, Ms. Espinoza has come into the possession of a lot of money.”

“How much is a lot?” Betsy asked.

“A lot,” Bishop repeated. “And from some intel we gathered from our friend, Sage, in the Hellfire Club, she is planning on using that money to barter a deal with Shinobi Shaw.”

“Ah,” Betsy replied. “So, that’s where I come in. Any idea what she wants or where they’re meeting?”

“Not really,” Bishop replied. “We do know two things: The first is that Shaw possesses some form of Shi’ar technology. We don’t know much about it other than the fact that this tech is somehow instrumental in causing Blink’s future.”

“And the second thing?” Betsy asked.

“We know where she’s been getting her money from, which is our first real lead.”

Bishop tapped the side of his glasses and the hologram changed to show security footage of a bank vault. A large, gear-like door with a combination lock in the center - indiscriminate from most vaults. A figure was hunched over the lock, fiddling with it for a few moments until he stepped aside and opened the vault. The man wore a long trench coat and a self-satisfied grin.

“Gambit,” Betsy said, though unsurprised. “Looks like his break-up with Rogue was tough on him. But why?”

“That’s what we want you and Bishop to find out,” Scott replied. “He’s been hitting banks from all over the world: Croatia, Milan, Chicago, Mexico City. But he was seen just yesterday back in his old stomping grounds: New Orleans. Apparently he caused a scene at a place by the name of ‘The Hair of the Dog’. Got roughed up by a couple of patrons. I want you and Bishop to go in and talk to him. Get the info we need.”

“Understood,” Betsy replied. “When do we leave?”

“Tonight,” Bishop said.

“And Betsy,” Scott said. “Gambit and I have had our differences in the past, but…”

“Don’t worry,” Psylocke said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll go easy on him.”

“Well,” Scott smirked. “Not too easy.”

#

Scott set Bishop and Betsy up with a Blackwing, smaller than a typical Blackbird and with fewer shields and firepower, but possessing faster speeds and cloaking abilities. They were in New Orleans within a couple hours.

By sundown they walked up Sheridan Blvd to ‘The Hair of the Dog’. Broken glass still sparkled in the streetlights. Boards were shoddily nailed across the panes the glass once filled. But even before the previous night’s incident, the bar wasn't trying to be the fanciest place in the world. In fact, it was more likely trying to be the exact opposite.

The place was empty when they entered, save for the bartender who ended up being the owner. After a little bribing and a lot of intimidation, he told them that Remy had been a regular for the past couple weeks. After his manhood was threatened with mutilation, the owner told them where to find him.

So, when they came to the pier of a seemingly abandoned steamboat that looked as if it might sink as soon as they stepped foot on it, they knew they were on the right path.

A man stood at the pier. His hands were shoved into his coat pockets to make his frame seem less conspicuous. He hadn’t noticed them yet as he was busy staring ahead of him.

“What do you think?” Betsy asked. “I distract him while you take him down from behind?”

“Relax,” Bishop muttered. “Let’s just take it slow for your first time back.”

It wasn't until he said that that Betsy realized she was shaking. Not much, but enough in her hands that she had to clench her fist to stop. Betsy took another deep breath and followed Bishop’s lead.

“Hello,” he said. The bouncer stared at him, emotionless. “We were wondering-”

“No,” the man said.

“No what?” Betsy asked. She felt the shakes coming on again.

“Just no,” the man said.

“You don't even know what he was going to say,” Betsy replied. She stepped forward menacingly.

“Sure I do. This lug was gonna ask if we could come on board.”

“And why can't we?” Betsy asked. She let the anger well up in her throat as she spoke.

“Because I don't know you,” he said and then eyed Betsy up and down. “Although I wouldn't mind knowing you.”

She couldn't choke it down any longer. Betsy closed her fist and was about to create a psychic knife when Bishop chimed in.

“We know Remy LeBeau.”

At this, the bouncer broke into a smile, but not a kind one. “That so? Well, then you must be here to pay off his debts.”

“Debts?” Betsy echoed. “Plural?”

“Yes. That’s what we are here for,” Bishop said. “Now, can we go see our…friend?”

The bouncer, who went by ‘Houston’, led them across the ramp that was more like a bridge onto the main deck on the port side, around the bow, and to the starboard side. Barnacles and algae encrusted the hull of the ship, possibly acting as a glue, Betsy mused, that kept everything together. The boards creaked under every step that they took. The paint was all but gone, leaving the wood that had grayed overtime.

Houston brought them up to a large, metal door that could not have been the original. He knocked on it in a rapid and seemingly random succession and it opened. Inside, the boat was full of life. The air was rich with alcohol and jazz. Everything was made of a fine wood with a glossy finish that gave it a golden appearance. There were tables all around the room, each with a group of happy individuals, all dressed in fine clothing. They were all either placing bets, shouting at each other, or drinking.

A young woman in a corset and fishnets served drinks, collecting tips as she did so. Betsy watched as she brought the tips to the bartender and happily pecked him on the cheek. They both eyed Bishop and Betsy as they entered.

“Where’s LeBeau?” Bishop asked, scanning the room.

“Oh, he’s in the VIP room,” Houston replied, leading them to a red door in the back. He opened the door for them, revealing stairs, and stepped aside.

The music faded out as they went down the stairs and they heard the slap of skin-on-skin contact as well as a grunt here or there. The stairs led them down to the boiler room, which was much more like the outside of the boat. It was grimey, full of rust and the smell of decay. Two men stood by the boiler - one, burly and sweaty, wearing a wife beater, the other, slim and in a business suit with a bolo tie that bore a marking that almost looked like a backwards N. They stood over a man who sat on the floor, handcuffed to a pipe that came off the central boiler. Remy LeBeau, AKA Gambit.

“Your friends are here to pay off your debts, LeBeau,” Houston said.

Remy looked up. His left eye was swollen purple and he was bleeding from his lip. There were bruises and cuts all over his bare chest and his head hung weakly to the side. Still, he smiled when he saw Lucas and Betsy.

“Ah, Bishop. Betsy. Welcome, mes amies,” Remy said. He looked to the man in the suit. “Say, Van der Muir, are you going to offer your new guests a drink?”

At that, the big man slugged Remy across the cheek. “That’s enough lip outta you, boy.”

“I bet that’d hurt more if you could make a complete fist,” Remy replied, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground.

The big man extended down and began to choke Remy, revealing that his ring finger was completely gone. In fact, neither of his hands had ring fingers.

“Now now, Franklin,” Van der Muir said, his voice thick with a southern drawl. He rubbed at the marking on his bolo tie. “It sounds like Mr. LeBeau’s friends have come to bail him out.”

“Well, ‘friends’ might be a strong word,” Betsy said. “How much does he owe you, Mr. Van der Muir?”

“Please, call me ‘Simon’,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “And, Betsy, is it?”

“Ms. Braddock, actually.”

“Ah, Ms. Braddock,” he said, gently shaking her hand. “I’ve run into your brother before.”

“You know Brian?” she asked.

Van der Muir simply smiled. “So, you’re here to pay off LeBeau’s debts?”

“That’s right,” Bishop said. “How much does he owe you?”

“Oh, what is it?” Van der Muir said, looking back to Franklin, who put up one hand with four fingers and an additional finger with his other hand. “About five.”

“Thousand?” Betsy asked. He shook his head and pointed up. Her eyes grew wide. “Million?!”

“I’m afraid LeBeau’s not quite as good of a card player as he claims to be,” he said. “Well, not as good as me.”

“You’re liar and a cheat,” Remy said. “I don’t know how, but you changed my cards.”

Franklin kicked Remy in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Van der Muir spun around and crouched in front of him with the kind of smile that a mother has when comforting her child. “Oh, Remy. How is that even possible? How can you steal from the world’s greatest thief?”

“Don’t patronize me, loup,” Remy replied when he caught his breath back.

“What does that make you, then? Chat?” Remy spat in his face. This time, it was Van der Muir’s turn to punch him. He stood, wiped his face with a handkerchief, and smiled at Bishop and Betsy. “Apologies, I’m sure you’re anxious to get your friend out of here. If you’ve got the money, you can be on your way.”

“And what if we don’t have the money?” Betsy asked.

No one spoke. No one moved. There was only the muffled sound of laughter and music upstairs.

“Ms. Braddock, Mr. Bishop,” Van der Muir said. His voice was barely audible, more breaths than speech. “I’m afraid I am running out of patience almost exactly as fast as you are running out of time.”

Van der Muir pulled a gun from his jacket and pointed it at Betsy. Houston had a gun pressed up to Bishop’s ear. Franklin pulled out a hunting knife and held it to Remy’s throat.

“Now, let’s try this again,” Van der Muir said. “Did you bring my money or am I going to have to explain to Jamie Braddock why his little sister’s brains are all over my boat?”

Betsy froze under the gun at the mention of her brother’s name. Jamie - the root of her suffering. All of a sudden, dark memories - of Jamie, of Vargas, of dying - came over her. The pain. The emptiness. All of it at once in just a few seconds.

“Careful with dat knife,” Remy said to Franklin, breaking the silence. “You might cut off another finger. What would we call you then? Three Fingered Frankie?”

At that, the blade began to glow a faint pink color. Franklin went bug-eyed and threw it to the floor, letting it clang against the wood. Van der Muir began to shout something, but it was too late. The knife exploded, not enough to hurt anyone seriously, but enough so everyone was on the ground, dazed.

Betsy’s ears were ringing and she felt someone tugging on her shoulder. It was Remy. Somehow, he had gotten out of his handcuffs and was shouting something.

“Allons,” he said. “Time to go, chere.”

Betsy rose and grabbed Bishop by the arm as they rushed up the stairs and through the door. Hysteria awaited them in the game room. Tables and chairs were toppled, leaving cards, dice, and some loose cash to coat the floors. The gamblers, who - Betsy noticed - didn’t look as glamorous as before, were rushing to the doors, climbing over one another.

“Hit the ground!” someone shouted.

Before she knew what was happening, she was being tackled behind a craps table. She began to fight back until she realized it was Bishop atop of her. A loud bang rattled the air as something punched into the table. They were unharmed, but the ringing in Betsy’s ears became louder.

“It’s the bartender and that waitress,” Bishop shouted. “They’ve got a lock on us.”

“Did you bring any firepower?” she asked.

Bishop shook his head. “I’ve got some energy stored, but not much.”

Remy, who was crouched behind another table, was picking up cards, dice, and cash with a smile on his face as if it were Christmas. Another shot rocked the table and began to splinter its wood. From the loud crack of it, Betsy guessed it was a shotgun. This was followed by a rapping of shots - an SMG of some sort.

“I'm calling for the Wing. We need to get out ASAP,” Bishop said.

Then his eyes darted behind her and widened. Betsy turned and saw Houston stepping out of the door, seemingly unharmed. He saw Betsy and Bishop, raised his gun, and was about to fire when Remy kicked his bare foot into Houston’s knee, causing it to buckle and the shot to hit the ceiling. Houston dropped to the ground, giving Remy just enough room to deliver another kick to his head, knocking him out.

“Hey, Bishop,” Remy said and tossed something over to him. “Need some ammo?”

Bishop looked down and saw a pair of dice that were glowing a bright pink next to Houston’s gun. Without a second thought, he grabbed the dice and absorbed his energy and checked the ammo in the pistol. He shot a blast at the bartender, who ducked behind the counter.

Next through the door was Franklin, looking furious and bloodied.

“Hey, Frankie Four Fingers,” Remy said, standing up. He had a pool cue in his hand and waved him towards him. “What say you and I finish dis?”

Franklin gripped his knife and charged towards Remy, who ducked but not in time before the big man could grab hold of him and send him through the window. With a howl of rage, he dove through the window after the thief.

Betsy stood there, watching as Bishop fired at the bartender and the waitress who fired right back with precision accuracy and Remy as he was tossed around by Franklin. She wasn’t sure what she could do for either of the men - a pang of doubt and fear slowly froze her senses.

“Betsy!” Bishop shouted at her. “You need to get the civilians out of here!”

He was right. The fighting caused the crowd to grow more chaotic. They were all crowding onto the bridge to get across to shore, but they were all packed into a narrow space, making it impossible to go very quickly. And to make matters worse, the bridge was beginning to shake more and more under the weight. It was only a matter of seconds before it would break, sending everyone into the water below.

She rushed outside, shouting, “Everyone! You need to slow down and remain calm!”

They paid her no mind. But just like clockwork, a bolt snapped, causing the bridge to lurch to the side. The people came to a halt and screamed as they were all thrown against the guard rails. Betsy acted quickly, grabbing hold of the bridge. She wasn’t strong enough to lift it back in place, but she was able to telekinetically bond it to the support beam. She just didn’t know for how long.

“Listen to me,” she said, through gritted teeth. “I can hold this, but you all need to go calmly - and slowly - or it will break. Do you understand?”

Their answer came in the form of silence. One-by-one, they began to make their way across the river to the dock.

The bridge jostled and her strength began to wane. A gun fired from behind her but the shot missed and hit the water below. With her concentration temporarily broken, the bridge heaved to the side for a moment. Betsy caught it, but a man was thrown overboard. He hit his head on the rail before he tumbled down, so he was dazed, and although the current wasn’t strong enough to carry him away, an undercurrent caught him and began to pull him down. His head, though bleeding, was still unsubmerged and he was conscious, though not for long.

“Well, would ya lookit that?” came Van der Muir’s voice from behind her. “Ms. Braddock is forced to let one innocent die in order for the rest to live.” A gun clicked in the background. “It’d sure be a shame if she couldn’t save anyone.”

Most of the people were across but there were still a few who weren’t. Betsy began to feel weakness and pain - both mentally and physically. She thought to herself, What do I do? What could I do? But she already knew the answer. So, she gripped the bridge and remained, offering a prayer up to anyone who might hear.

Laura Kinney answered. Before he knew it, Van der Muir was splayed on the ground with a pair of claws at his throat. As the last person stepped from the bridge to the dock, Betsy let go of the bridge, letting it topple into the water

“What are you doing here?” she asked the girl.

“You said we would talk later,” Laura replied. “And later never came. So I snuck onto the Blackwing.”

“You’re in big trouble.” She looked down to where the man was, but he was nowhere to be seen. Stepping onto the guardrail, Betsy turned to Laura and said, “Don’t kill him.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Laura said.

She pointed to the girl. “I mean it.”

Laura rolled her eyes, which Betsy didn’t see as she was already in the water. She looked down to Van der Muir and saw two things that concerned her: a smile and a shadow that had no scent.

The water was colder than Betsy had anticipated and murkier, limiting her vision. But she ignored that and pulled herself down deeper, her arms bursting with pain. A few feet down, she saw a hand reaching out to her. Betsy took the hand and immediately pulled up to resurface. Even though the man weighed down on them, they resurfaced with the gasp of a breath and hoisted his body up onto the dock with the help of one of the other patrons.

Immediately, the man vomited water and came to. He was a little disoriented but his eyes lit up at the sight of Betsy. “You're an X-Man, aren't ya?”

Betsy nodded.

“I knew you were an X-Man.” He then pointed back up to the boat. “You might wanna help your friend out.”

On the deck, Laura was holding Van der Muir as a human shield, her claws at his throat, and was cornered by three beings who looked to be demons. They inched towards her on cloven hooves, their angular faces twisted up in smiles.

With one leap across the water, Betsy soon climbed across the guard rail and generated a telekinetic blade. She crept up to the one on Laura’s left and slashed at his back, but the demon knew it was coming and dodged it with a spin maneuver. He created an axe made of shadow and struck at her.

Betsy parried and began to strike, but hesitated when he turned. The demon had the face of Jamie. She did a flip back as the other demons appeared and joined the fight, finding herself at the bow of the ship.

Meanwhile, Bishop was being tossed through the door, near Laura and Van der Muir and another demon. He landed with a thud. Franklin, who walked out after him, dragging Remy along, wasn’t in much better shape. As Franklin got closer to Bishop, Remy a handful of dice in the air, lobbing it up in a way that made Franklin think it was charged, so he dove to the ground. But what waited for him on the ground was a deck of cards. And it was glowing pink.

Boom.

The explosion sent Franklin back, knocking into the door. He was out cold.

Bishop helped Remy up and turned his attention to Laura. “Where’s Psylocke?”

Laura nodded towards the bow, her claws still on Van der Muir.

“Stay here,” he said, running past them. “And don’t kill him!”

“I wasn’t gonna!”

“Eh,” Remy said, taking pleasure at his ex-captor’s predicament. “Do what you want with him, petite.”

Betsy, meanwhile, struggled to keep up with the demons that all had the face of Jamie Braddock. Every time she struck at them, they dodged and immediately struck at her with their shadow weapons. As Bishop and Remy arrived, they shifted their focus in a literal way. The demons began to multiply, each splitting up into pairs, though each becoming smaller than its parent.

Remy chucked a handful of dice at them, scattering them but not hurting them. Bishop’s blasts wouldn’t touch them and Betsy was growing sluggish.

Laura watched this, feeling helpless, but knowing deep down that was she was doing was important.

“Aren’t you gonna help your friends, child?” Van der Muir asked, prodding her. “They can’t hold them forever.”

“Shut up,” Laura replied, gripping onto his collar harder.

“I know what scares you,” he said. “You’re a lot easier to read than the other one.”

“Shut. Up,” she said. But, again, Van der Muir had that smile on his face. Only this time it was wider. And his bolo tie began to glow.

The demons began to split, more and more. They weren’t fast enough to defeat the X-Men, but they could outnumber them. A slash here, a prod there. The demons were beginning to tire them down without showing signs that they were fatigued at all.

“These guys are good,” Remy said, flinging a card at two that jumped out of the way in time. “Nothin’ I’m throwing at dem is hitting.”

But Bishop decided he wanted the fight to end. He stuck both arms out and release a large stream of energy, turning his arms into a group of the demons, who couldn’t move away in time. The blast should have cut them in half. But it didn’t. They were still standing.

“No. It’s because there’s nothing to hit,” Bishop said. “It’s all smoke and mirrors. Van der Muir’s creating these illusions!”

“That's how he changed my cards,” Remy realized. “Laura, it’s his bolo tie! Take it!”

Laura heard this and grabbed at his tie, ripping it from him, but not before he could create one last image for her. He wrestled from her grasp, causing her to rip the tie from his neck, but the image was still there for a brief moment. She fell to her knees when she saw it, allowing for him time to escape into the water.

As soon as the tie was off, the demons disappeared into a mist that was carried away with the wind. Betsy ran over to Laura, who was staring at the ground. “Are you alright?”

She nodded.

“What did you see?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Betsy took the girl in her arms. In the distance, sirens blared, growing louder and louder. Bishop ran over to them and helped them up, telling them they needed to leave. They made their way to the Blackwing, which hovered near the guardrail with its ramp extended down. One-by-one, they hopped onto it, Bishop entering last.

Laura immediately went to the medical cot in the back and curled into a ball by herself. Bishop went to the pilot seat and to fly them far enough away into the clouds that they could regroup for a moment. Remy poked around the various computer screens.

“Wait, you guys have a bathroom in this?” he said, walking towards the back. “It have a shower?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Betsy said, her hair still wet and smelling of river water. “But that’s not important right now. Who is Sandra Espinoza and what does she want with Shi’ar technology?”

“It wasn’t me,” Remy said, poking his head out of the bathroom. “I thought you’d figured dat out by now.”

“We have footage of you stealing money from all over the world in the last week,” Bishop said, rising from the pilot seat. “And records of the same amount of money being wired to an account under Espinoza’s name.”

“Then you know it wasn’t me,” Remy said, growing very serious. “If I broke into all those banks in dat amount of time, the only way you’d know is if I told you myself. And believe me, I would because dat’s pretty impressive, even by my standards.”

This caused them to pause.

“Betsy, Bishop.” It was Scott calling over the comm-link. His face was on a holoprojector at the controls of the jet. “I see you’ve caught our thief. Hello, Remy.”

“Hi, yourself,” Remy replied.

“Scott,” Betsy said. “I...don’t think it was him. I think he was set up.”

“What?” Bishop said, turning to her.

“I know he was set up,” Scott said. “We just received word that Gambit hit up another bank. An hour ago. In Tokyo.”

Remy’s eyes widened and he spread his arms in a “What did I tell you” fashion.

“So, we’re dealing with a shape-shifter?” Bishop asked.

“Seems like it. It’s possibly Espinoza herself,” he replied. “And the deal is happening soon. Shaw was seen at a coffee shop in the middle of the city.”

“Say no more, Scott,” Betsy said. “We’ll be there in a few hours.”

“By the way, Betsy. Considering the tight time-frame, tell Ms. Kinney she’s allowed to tag along as long as she understands you’re in charge - but please also make sure knows she’s in a helluva a lot of trouble when she gets back.”

“Roger that,” Betsy said.

“Over and out,” Scott replied as his image disappeared.

Bishop went back to the jet’s controls and slowly hovered out of the clouds in the moonlight, still cloaked. “So, where can we drop you off, LeBeau?”

“No, I’m comin’ with,” Remy said. “If someone’s been masquerading as yours truly, I need to have words with him.” Bishop began to interject but Remy continued. “‘Sides, you’re gonna need the World’s Greatest Thief if you want to capture the Second Greatest.” He looked at Betsy. “No?”

Betsy shrugged. “Can’t hurt.”

“Debatable,” Bishop said. “But you’re leading this. It’s your call.”

Betsy looked at Gambit with a cold expression. “Don’t make me regret this, Remy.”

#

They were still a few hours outside of Tokyo when Bishop took a seat next to Betsy in the other co-pilot seat. Laura had finally come from her ball after a little comforting from Betsy, who decided the time to scold her for sneaking onto the Blackwing was later. Remy, meanwhile, rummaged through a couple of the lockers, searching for clean clothes that fit him.

“Pretty clear night,” she said. “We’ve got a back wind but it’s not helping us much with our speed. Still, it might shave a few seconds off our flight.”

“Betsy,” Bishop asked after a beat. “Are you alright?”

“Just a couple cuts and bruises,” she replied.

“No, I mean...you’re different,” he said.

Betsy laughed. “Well, I was dead and now I’m alive. So yes, Lucas, I imagine I am different.”

There was a long silence, interrupted by the occasional curse from Remy.

“Listen, I know a lot has happened over the past year, but I think I speak for everyone when I say I’m happy you’re back.”

“I know what you’re trying to say,” Betsy replied. “I was bloody useless tonight. I don’t even have my telepathy anymore. Why did Scott even send me?”

“I asked him to. Believe it or not, you’re instrumental in all of this,” Bishop said. “Plus, you weren’t useless tonight. Those people might be dead if you hadn’t acted. And I know you’ll get better with time. You just need some practice.”

Betsy remembered the man’s face when she got him back to the shore and the words he’d said.

“I knew you were an X-Man.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Lucas,” she said and then reclined her seat. “I’m gonna try to get a little rest. Wake me when we get there?”

“Will do,” Bishop replied.

He waited a few minutes and tapped his sunglasses to bring up a screen only visible to him. Using a tracker in the lenses that followed his iris, in his left eye, he directed it to “Messages” and then “Compose”. Bishop composed it, winking at different letters as he went. It was short, so it didn’t take long. Just six simple words.

“We’re on our way.” And then, “Be ready.”


	2. Deals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this second chapter, Psylocke leads The X-Force (Gambit, X-23, and Bishop) to Tokyo to retrieve the stolen Shi'ar tech that has the potential to bring about the apocalypse. But, as they will soon find out, that's easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another re-upload from my last series. After this, everything will be new. 
> 
> Also, this chapter does contain minor descriptions of violence that some may find disturbing.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Lucas Bishop sat at a small desk inside a jet flying at supersonic speeds towards its destination: Tokyo. His teammates were all sleeping but none of them seemed to notice or care about the fluorescent light he had on, which he was using to examine a bolo tie with a strange marking on it.

The marking was part of a piece of metal that had been inlaid in a convex metal plate to make up the tie. Gripping a pair of tweezers, Bishop pulled the piece of metal from the plate. He held it close to his face, examining it through a pair of ruby sunglasses.

“Interesting,” he muttered to himself as his glasses gave him a readout of the object.

“What’s interesting?”

Bishop jumped and turned around to see Betsy Braddock walking over towards him, rubbing her eyes. He held up the piece of metal to her. “This was definitely the secret behind Van der Muir’s powers.”

“What kind of tech are we dealing with, exactly?” she asked, squinting at it and handing it back. “Shi’ar? Skrull?”

Bishop shook his head. “It’s not alien tech. I’m not entirely sure where it’s from, which usually means magic of some sort. From what I can tell, it taps into weak or latent abilities hidden in your genetic coding, making it especially useful for mutants. For Van der Muir, it was his ability to create illusion, which was amplified to make it so he could create hard light constructs.”

“Latent abilities?” Betsy asked. “So, it would be possible for me to tap into my telepathy?”

“Theoretically,” he replied. He watched Betsy eyeing the chip and palmed it. “But my analysis of it isn’t quite done. I have no real idea what side effects there could be should you use it.”

She nodded in agreement, but still felt the need to protest. Betsy felt naked without her telepathy, like she had lost her sense of smell or touch. It had been months since she was resurrected by God-knew-who, and in her months off from working with the other X-Men, her telepathy was never needed. The only information she needed to know during that period of time was once in Bermuda when she needed to find the bathroom - and then she was able to just ask.

But before the conversation could continue, a synthetic voice came on over the speakers of the Blackwing. “We are t-minus 45 minutes from our destination.”

“Thanks, Edna,” Betsy said. She went to wake up Laura and Remy but they were already awake. “Alright, team. Let’s go over the plan one last time.”

#

Anyone staying inside the top-floor penthouse suite of the Grand Regency Hotel would have seen three figures, all dressed in matching black uniforms drop out of mid-air and onto the concrete balcony. Luckily for them, no one was inside. Just like they planned.

The plan was simple, for the most part. According to the email correspondence between Shaw and Espinoza (that Hank had intercepted and forwarded to the team), they would meet that evening at the bar of the Grand Regency Hotel, where he was staying. Although it wasn’t explicitly stated, Betsy knew Shaw well enough to know that he would be staying at the penthouse suite at the top of the hotel, which is also where the tech would be. Remy, Betsy, and (after much pleading) Laura would drop down to the suite while Bishop hacked into the hotel’s security systems, being their eyes and ears. Remy would break in with Betsy while Laura used her heightened sense of smell to detect any incoming intruders. They would grab the tech and meet Bishop on the roof for extraction.

“Four minutes,” Betsy reminded everyone as they made their way from the pool to the all-glass walls of the suite.

Around them, skyscrapers glittered in the night. There were potentially hundreds of people just across the street that could have seen them doing this, but none did. Or at least none cared. The Grand Regency was always buzzing with (often illegal) activity, so it was just a Tuesday to them.

Betsy followed Remy to the doors and gestured to the locks. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“Chere, I been picking dese kinda locks since I could walk.” Remy smirked as he tied a red bandanna around his neck. “‘Course, I usually had somethin’ more to work with than a couple a bobby pins and a screwdriver, but Remy can make do.”

“How are you doing, X-23?” Betsy whispered over to the girl.

Laura was stalking around the walls, sniffing. She paused every once in a while to take a deeper inhale, but she seemed calm. “Fine. I almost can’t get a good scent because of some gross cologne coming from the room, but I’ll pick it up better once we’re inside.”

“Gross cologne, eh? Sounds like Shinobi alright. Just let me know if it gets stronger,” Betsy said and winked at the girl. “Bishop: status report?”

“Cameras aren’t picking up any movement your way,” Bishop replied over the comlink. “There’s only one elevator that goes up to the suite and it’s been inactive for the last 43 minutes.”

“Alright,” Betsy replied. “Keep us updated.”

“Will do.”

She returned to Remy who was still fiddling with the lock. His black and red eyes were narrowed in concentration and he was biting the corner of his bottom lip. For the most part, the team was silent save for the occasional click of a bobby pin and a French curse muttered under Remy’s breath, but that was all covered by the bustle of the Tokyo streets down below.

With another click, Remy stood and opened the door. “Ladies first.”

Betsy walked through on the balls of her feet, surveying the room. “I don’t care what they say about you, Gambit. You’re not completely useless.”

“Sounds like you been talkin’ to Rogue,” Remy said and walked in behind her. “What is it we’re lookin’ for anyways? A suitcase? A safe? Some sorta metal doodad?”

“To be completely honest,” Betsy replied. “I’m not entirely sure, but I have a feeling we’ll know when we find it. X-23, do you have a scent on it yet?”

She poked her head in, smelled, and frowned. “More cologne. I’ll take a look around.”

“Just make sure you keep your senses attuned to the front door as well,” Betsy said.

They explored the suite, from the bed that was adorned with silken red sheets to the bathroom that Laura found to be larger than the padded room she grew up in. The center of the suite dropped down into a large square, with red cushions forming a couch that surrounded a fireplace. Betsy searched through the cushions while Laura poked through the ashes with her claws.

Remy walked around the bed, his instincts as a thief telling him that whatever they were looking for would be close. The device wasn’t but something else of interest was. Its corner was poking out from under the pillow. Leather-bound. Deep ebony.

A notebook.

He grabbed it and shook his head. “Shaw, you got da same idea for a hiding place as a teenager.”

“Got something?” Betsy whispered.

“Maybe,” Remy replied, flipping through some of the pages. “Looks like some…”

“Not you,” Betsy said. She was watching Laura, who had stopped and was smelling the air.

“What is it?” Remy asked.

“They’re here,” Laura replied, popping her claws.

“X-23, I need you to find a place to hide,” Betsy said. The girl began to protest, but Betsy shut her up with a glare. As Laura darted off into one of the closets, Betsy pressed into her earpiece. “Bishop, they’re on their way. Do you have eyes on them?...Bishop? Do you read?”

And with that, Shinobi Shaw opened the doors. He was dressed in a tux with his long hair bound up in a bun and carried with him an air of elegance that Betsy always found to be fake, along with the strong stink of that cologne. At the site of Betsy and Remy, Shaw’s expression looked like it could have been a mixture of relaxation or even glee, but there was definitely no surprise.

“Hello, Betsy. I wondered when the X-Men would show up,” Shaw said. He looked to Remy with a smirk. “Though, I have to say, I thought you’d surround yourself with people of a little more...class.”

“More class dan you, homme,” Remy replied. His fingers hovered over a pouch that was strapped to his right thigh.

“Then you know why we’re here, Shaw,” Betsy said. “Where is it?”

“Betsy, you’re a smart girl. Do you really think I would bring it here?” His eyes narrowed and he sounded as if he were offended. “I knew the X-Men would be hot on my trail as soon as the device went missing.”

“Where. Is. It.”

Shaw threw his hands up into the air - an action that took Remy by surprise, causing him to flinch and step into more of a fighting stance. But Shaw didn’t attack - he giggled like a child. “You really don’t know what it is do you?”

He laughed to himself more, taking joy in this fact. He reached out as he spoke and grabbed at the air.

“The old Betsy Braddock would have pried into my mind and taken what she wanted to know, but it seems your recent journey from the land of the dead has left you...broken.”

“We will take it if you don’t tell us. I promise you that much,” Betsy said. Her jaw was clenched and her words were very precise. “And I don’t think you want that. We already outnumber two-to-one and have another man in the sky.”

“Oh, you mean this man?” Shaw replied as casually as if he were merely offering up an option for dinner. In came Bishop, a knife to his throat held by Sandra Espinoza. Espinoza stood a good head lower than Bishop, but she had a good hold on him and had no problem pressing the knife up to his throat. “Now, let’s change the subject. I have something you want. You have something I want.”

“What?” Betsy asked.

“My book,” he said and holding a hand out towards Remy. “I’ll be taking it back.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Remy replied.

“I will kill him,” Espinoza said. Her voice was cold and monotone.

“You’re bluffing,” Remy replied.

“Give him the book, Gambit,” Betsy said.

“But she’s bluff…’

“Give him the damn book!”

Slowly, Remy reached behind him and pulled the book from his belt and slid it over to Shaw, who picked it up and flipped through the pages. Shaw then placed the book into a pocket in his jacket and smiled, motioning for Espinoza to let go of Bishop.

Bishop stumbled over to them, but Betsy caught him before he hit the floor. There was dried blood on his neck where the knife had made a shallow cut, and his face was slightly bruised under his eyes and around his cheeks.

“Are you okay?” Betsy asked.

“Fine,” Bishop said and composed himself.

“If you hid dat device as poorly as you hid your journal,” Remy said to Shaw. “Den you’re gonna lose it. Maybe not to us. But to someone.”

“Admittedly a misstep on my part,” Shaw replied, patting his chest where the book was. “Guess I’ll just have to keep a better eye on my things. But I’ll be dead before I let a common street thief steal from me.”

“Dat can be arranged,” Remy said.

“I think it’s time I took my leave.” Shaw frowned mockingly. He turned to Espinoza. “My dear, would you be so kind as to escort our guests out the nearest window?”

Her face contorted in confusion. “I don’t work for you, Shaw.”

Shaw, not used to being told “no”, raised an eyebrow at that. “Do it or the deal is off.”

Espinoza didn’t even hesitate. She spun her legs around in a cartwheel and kicked off both of her heels at Remy, catching him in the neck and face, then proceeded to morph her hand into the barrel of a blaster, sending two shots at Bishop. He was able to dodge one, but the other hit him in the stomach, sending him flying back.

Before Betsy could act, Espinoza was already tackling her onto the floor, sending a fist into her cheek, causing it to sting. Betsy wasn’t sure if it was because she had been inactive for so long, or if there was something she didn’t know about her assailant, but Espinoza’s punches felt like being hit with sock full of coins - cold, hard, and heavy.

Betsy created a psy-blade and attempted to slash at Espinoza’s face, but her attacks were blocked with pin-point accuracy. Espinoza began to anticipate these attacks and was soon dodging them, following each one with a punch. She grabbed at Betsy’s hands with one of her own, pinning her against the floor. As she rose a fist to stun her when a figure darted from the side and wrestled her to the ground.

Remy. He was back on his feet in an instant, his bo staff in hand. “C’mon, cherie. Let’s dance.”

While the three of them wrestled with Espinoza, Shaw made his way back to the doors, but before he could reach them, Laura pounced on him, tearing the book from his jacket. Shaw rolled away, phasing as the girl slashed at him.

“Give me that back,” he said through gritted teeth. He took a step toward her and smiled. She growled and took a step back. He reached out towards the book and she swept her claws at his hand, which should have taken off his fingers, but he let them phase through her. “Nice doggie.”

He took a few more steps toward her, but she backed up, one step at a time, but it wasn’t long until she felt her back against the wall. And Shaw was still advancing.

“You know,” he said. “I can my myself like air, as you’ve seen, letting anything I want to pass right through me. Or, I can make it as hard as diamond.”

And with that he delivered a quick punch into Laura’s stomach, knocking the wind out of her lungs, and grabbed her free arm. Then he phased his hand, letting it sink into her arm and grabbed hold of the bone underneath.

“Eeaaauuugh!” Laura screamed.

“I can also disrupt your own molecules,” he said with a sinister smile.

The pain grew. He grabbed at the journal, but Laura wouldn’t let go, even with the searing hot pain that flowed through her from her arm. Sweat began to bead on her brow as they played tug-of-war with the notebook, each holding one of its leather covers. Shaw squeezed her arm once more and it was too much. Laura let the book slip from her grasp.

But Shaw wouldn’t let her slip from his. He squeezed again and said, “I know you’ll heal from this, but I’m sure it will take a while, even for you.”

With a screech, Laura slashed at his face again. Shaw, who was in a state between tangible and intangible, let go and tried to let the claws phase through him, but was too slow. Blood sprayed from his face as he turned away and shouted in pain.

Holding his face, he ran towards the balcony, book in hand and turned one last time with a sneer. Laura chased after him, but the pain in her arm still hadn’t subsided. In fact, it was screaming at her, distracting her from the objective.

“I will get you for this, girl,” he said, his hand muffling his words as he spoke. And then he jumped.

Laura turned to see how the rest of her team was faring against Espinoza. Remy and Betsy were keeping up with her fine, dodging her blasts and reciprocating with a charged card or a psy-blade respectively. Bishop, on the other hand, was slow and couldn’t land a hit.

With Laura’s healing factor kicking in, the pain began to subside. But even this pain wasn’t the worst she’d ever experienced. At least that’s what she told herself as she pushed on through it as she made her way to her teammates, who were getting slower with every move they made.

Espinoza, on the other hand, showed no signs that she was tired. In fact, she was beginning to pick up more steam as the fight went on. Her hits became more precise and quick while Remy’s and Betsy’s began to miss.

Laura leaped into Espinoza, aiming for her legs to cripple her. Espinoza backflipped out of the way, the tip of her foot catching Laura’s chin. She stood for a moment, her eyes darting from one mutant to another, sizing them up as they composed themselves.

“Are you ready to give up yet?” Betsy asked, between strained breaths.

“Are you?” Espinoza replied.

At that moment, the door blasted open with a bang, followed by the sound of metal clanging against the tiled floor.

“Tear gas!” Bishop shouted. “We need to get out of here!”

Betsy looked to where Espinoza was, but the woman was gone, leaving no trace. One-by-one, a SWAT team filed in, yelling at them to put their hands up as the gas began to sting their eyes. Remy pulled his handkerchief up to his face and tossed a few glowing cards to the ground.

“The mutie threw a bomb!” one of them shouted.

The cards exploded, scattering the SWAT team but not harming them, which allowed the team of mutants to sprint out of the suite and onto the balcony, unharmed. The Blackwing, which had been summoned by Bishop, hovered in waiting for them, its hatch open. For the second time in less than two days, they barely escaped from the authorities.

#

It was an hour after they’d made their escape when Betsy approached Remy, who was struggling to suture a deep cut on his side. The angle was awkward, so he continued to fumble with the needle.

“Merde,” he muttered to himself as he dropped it.

“Let me help you,” Betsy said, picking up the needle and cleaning it. The alcoholic aroma of disinfectant stung their nostrils as she dabbed some onto a cloth. “This is going to sting.”

“Damn,” Remy said, straightening out his back as she wiped away at the dried blood. Slowly and carefully, Betsy began to close the wound, using the drivers to guide the needle. “So, what’s the plan now we don’t have the device or the notebook?”

There was no response - not at first - just the gentle hum of the jet as they flew across Europe. Remy was about to fill the silence himself when Betsy said, “How did you know she was bluffing? When she had Bishop. How did you know she wouldn’t kill him?”

“C’mon. It’s me,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I know a bluff when I see one. Maybe it’s one of my mutant abilities.”

“Gamble with your own life next time,” Bishop said, passing by as he walked to the controls of the Blackwing.

Remy looked at Betsy with an upturned eyebrow but she just shook her head as she pulled the suture tight. “Don’t look at me. He’s got a point.”

“Understood. Won’t happen again,” Remy said, becoming solemn for a moment. Then his smile returned. “So, dis mean I am part of your team?”

“That...remains to be seen,” she said as she tied a knot in the suture and snipped off the excess. She then proceeded to slap a bandage over it and took a step back. “There. I’m no doctor, but this should hold until we get back to the school. Then Hank can fix you up.”

“The school?” Laura asked, perking up from her seat. “We’re going back? Now?”

“Yes,” Betsy said. She dropped down into one of the other bucket seats and closed her eyes to rest them. “We need to regroup and think about our options. We have no idea what their next step is, Gambit and Bishop need medical attention, and, to be honest, we need to get you back. Scott...er, Mr. Summers is probably about to blow a gasket since you snuck onto this bird.”

“And,” Bishop added from the Blackwing’s consoles, “having a child on our mission is a liability.”

Laura stood from her seat and scowled at Bishop, who took no notice. She took a wadded up piece of paper from her pockets and slapped it into Betsy’s hands.

“At least I didn’t captured,” she said as she walked through the sliding doors into the back storage area of the Blackwing.

Betsy unfolded the paper and was, at first, confused by what she saw. Then she noticed the tear marks along the edge and her eyes grew wide.

“Whatchu got?” Remy asked.

“The first page from Shaw’s notebook,” Betsy said, reading over the names and dates. She shook her head and muttered to herself, “Dammit, Betsy, you’re really going to recruit a child, aren’t you?”

#

Shinobi Shaw stood on the bow of his yacht, The Prodigal Sun, and looked out across the waters of the Sea of Japan, where the moon glittered on the waves like shattered glass. He sipped on a glass of bourbon, feeling the alcohol sting the cut on his cheek. He grimaced slightly but paid it no mind otherwise.

“I take it the X-Men escaped,” he said, still staring ahead.

“Yes, Mr. Shaw,” Espinoza said, approaching him from behind. She was slow and braced herself when he turned around, expecting the worst. But Shaw was smiling - or half-smiling since the part of his mouth was obscured by a patch of gauze that had become pink with blood.

“I figured they would,” he said. “But now, we at least know what we are dealing with. And you performed remarkably.”

“Mr. Shaw…”

“Please, call me ‘Shinobi’.”

“Shinobi,” Espinoza said. “I have the funds we discussed and they are ready to be transferred to your account if you have the device.”

Shaw laughed and walked past her, over to the bottle of bourbon and poured two glasses. “This may sound condescending, but do you know who I am? I’m Shinobi Shaw. Do you think I really need money? I started out with nothing - thanks to my father - and got my wealth through...my own means. Money is not what I need.”

“What do you need?” she asked.

“I need people, like yourself, who have extraordinary abilities and a drive to get what they want. Together, I believe we can truly change the world in our own image. We can make sure there are no Sebastian Shaws or Erik Lengshers or Charles Xaviers to tell us no.”

At the sound of that last name, Espinoza froze. Shaw just smiled and handed her a glass.

“Yes, I know of you, Danger,” he said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to keep this form up around me. I won’t tell anyone.”

With that, Espinoza faded away in a wave of disappearing pixels and Danger, the sentient embodiment of Xavier’s Danger Room, stood before him. She was a naked figure made up of random scraps of metal and the occasional wire here and there. But if she was “naked”, she either didn’t know or didn’t care. Danger stood before Shaw, stone faced and unintimidated.

“What of our deal?” she asked. “I still wish to have the device.”

“I’m sure you do,” he said. “And it will be yours - that and more.

“I only want the device.”

“No you don’t,” Shaw replied. “You want Xavier’s head on a silver platter. But you can’t do it alone - I know how well that went for you last time, even with the help of that behemoth.”

Anyone else who would have talked to Danger in such a way would be dead in moments. But not Shaw. Shaw had power over Danger and he knew it.

“Join me and I promise you Xavier’s head along with the heads of every one of those X-freaks that serve him. They will all be yours.”

Danger’s head tilted to the side. “And what do you want from me?”

Shaw reached out, beckoning her to take his hand. “Be my queen - my Queen in Silver. And help me to recruit our subjects.”

She hesitated, looking down at his hand. In the distance, a fish was being snatched up by an osprey and flown back to the mainland to be devoured. Danger listened and detected the bird’s heartbeat as it sped up, knowing it was about to feast. Shaw’s heartbeat matched its pace.

Still, Danger took his hand.

“The Queen in Silver?” she asked. “Queen of what? The Hellfire Club?”

“The Hellfire Club is a relic of the past.” Even though Shaw smiled, Danger could see the rage in his eyes at the very mention of his father’s organization. “We will be the Hellfire Empire.”


	3. Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a page from Shaw's notebook, Betsy's team figures out they need to visit a relic of the past in order to get information on how to prevent the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where this new series begins to deviate from the old one. I'm trying not to worry about continuity with the timeline that it is set in, so please be patient with me.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Laura Kinney sat atop a metal table, that was bolted to the floor of the Barada, a retired freighter that sat in New York’s largest ship graveyard, and listened as Lucas Bishop and Betsy Braddock debated. The topic for debate caused Laura to feel as though a swarm of hornets were buzzing around in her stomach, fighting to get out.

“I don’t care what Scott says,” Bishop protested. “She’s too young to be on this team.”

“Listen, I’ll give you the same spiel I gave Scott: Laura severely pissed off Shinobi Shaw,” Betsy replied. “A man of much influence and even more hate. Do you really think it’s safe to put her in the middle of a school full of kids that anyone with the internet can find?”

“Laura’s a clone of Logan - she can take care of herself.”

“Like I told Scott, Laura’s not the one I’m worried about,” Betsy said. “What if one of the other students gets caught in the crossfire?”

Bishop stood there, arms crossed and frowned. “I still don’t approve.”

“Maybe before we go makin’ decisions on her behalf,” Remy LeBeau said from the corner of the bridge, near the ship’s main radio, “we should ask Laura what she thinks?”

Laura, who had been busy whittling down a pencil that was left by the ship’s previous occupants, looked up to see all three looking at her with different expressions: Bishop frowning, Gambit looking relaxed, and Betsy with a look of genuine concern.

She nodded. “I want to stay.”

“Then it’s settled,” Betsy said. “Now, to our next order of business.”

She pressed a button and the bridge’s windows went dark. The bridge transformed from a rusty dump of metal into a state of the art command center as tables and chairs were flipped into pristine chrome counterparts. A hologram appeared in the middle of the room, showing a piece of paper.

The paper held no names nor numbers nor any series of letters that could even be counted as a code. Instead, it showed a sketch of something that not a single person in the room recognized. It was a single sketch of what looked to be an altar and a series of rubbings depicting three runes below it.

“This is the page that Laura ripped out of Shaw’s notebook,” she said. “It’s not much right now, but it’s the first page from his book, meaning it was his starting point, so it will also be ours.”

The image magnified the runes.

“We aren’t exactly sure where these come from,” Betsy continued. “They don’t match any alphabet from recorded history and, as far as we can tell, they don’t match any Shi’ar nor any other alien civilization that we have seen thus far.”

“So,” Remy said. “How exactly is that a start?”

“That brings us to the relief itself,” Betsy said. She grinned, inwardly proud of her own cleverness. “I sent the page off to Hank to get a sample of.”

“What did he find?” Bishop asked.

“Well, I would explain it to you how Henry tried to explain it to me, but that will just raise more questions, so I'll cut to the good bits.”

Betsy pulled away the image of the runes and brought up a magnified image of what looked like little green crystals all clustered together.

“This is a yet-named mineral that was on the back of the page, leftover from whatever Shaw was rubbing against. It is yet-named because it was only recently discovered.”

“Where?” Remy asked.

“Medmenham: The birthplace of the Hellfire Club.”

#

Remy found Laura gritting her teeth in concentration in the back of the Blackwing. She was pressing the tip of one of her claws against her finger. The girl pressed it hard, causing the skin on her finger to go white without actually puncturing the skin.

“What are you doing, petite?” Remy asked. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“That’s the idea,” Laura said. In that moment, the tip of her claw pierced her skin and a bead of scarlet popped up from it.

“Now, why would you wanna go and do that?” Remy asked, taking a seat next to the girl.

“Force of habit, I guess.”

Remy offered the girl a handkerchief. Laura paused, glancing over at Remy and then back to her finger. She took the handkerchief, wiped off her finger, which had already healed over, and held it back out to him.

“You can keep that one, chere,” Remy said. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not really.”

“Okay,” Remy said. He brought a deck of cards out from inside his jacket and began shuffling them. The flip and flap of the cards created much of the only noise in the cabin other than the steady hum of the engines.

“Do you mind not doing that?” Laura asked. “It’s annoying.”

“Merci, nervous habit,” Remy said. “You a card player, petite?”

“No,” she said.

“Wanna learn?” Remy said and winked. “We’ve got an hour to kill, after all.”

Laura looked at the cards, then to Remy and then to her extended claw. She sheathed it and shrugged. “Okay.”

#

“You know,” Betsy said, taking a seat at the cockpit next to Bishop, “I haven’t been back to England since I was...well…”

“Really?” Bishop asked, who was viewing something in his glasses. He closed out of them and said, “I figured you would have visited during your vacation.”

“Nope,” Betsy replied.

“What about your brother?” he asked.

Betsy shrugged. “I’ve seen him a couple times. Just not back home is all.”

Bishop searched for the words to say. He was never great at small-talk, especially when it came to women. “Are you...excited to be back?”

“Well, Medmenham isn’t exactly my backyard,” Betsy said. “But yes, I suppose you could say I’m excited.”

“Why is the place so important?” Bishop asked.

“Well, according to local legend, it’s said to be the place where the Hellfire Club first started. It was founded in the bowels of an abbey by a Sir Francis Dashwood as a place for the wealthy to debase themselves.”

Bishop thought it over. “What could Shaw possibly want there?”

“Well,” Betsy said. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

#

The abbey was turned into a clubhouse by Dashwood, which was then abandoned, leaving its gardens and pathways to rot and overgrow with weeds until it was turned into a private residence. It sat proudly before a river, like a man who had seen too much in his time and now just wanted nothing more than to watch the water go by, rising and falling with time. But it wasn't long before the abbey was fixed up again, its wrinkles straightened out and its whiskers given a trim, and billed as a “good family home” before being sold off to a wealthy producer who had some success in television.

Then about a year later, he died unexpectedly and the place was sold to someone else. This someone else, when not at home, tended to be a little over-the-top with his security measures, which included surveillance cameras covering every entrance to the estates as well as the house, alarms that could wake the dead, and 18 hired guns stationed all around the estate.

There were originally 20 mercs, but one mistakenly scuffed up Someone Else’s shoe and was let go (from a helicopter).

The other was most recently pulled into the river by a pair of men in wetsuits and knocked unconscious.

“What are we gonna do with this one, homme?” Remy said, still propping the man up in the water. “We can’t just let him drown.”

“Here,” Bishop said and wrapped a spare life preserver around the guard’s neck. Remy let go of the man and saluted him as he drifted downriver. “He’s probably better off than the rest of these bastards.”

The men pulled themselves up onto the grass and scurried to the little cottage by the water that once served as living quarters for the servants, but was now nothing more than a shed with a few gardening tools in it. They each pulled their suits off, revealing their black uniforms underneath. Bishop unzipped a duffel he had been carrying through the water and pulled out an SMG as well as his glasses and a device that looked like a remote control with a small screen on it. Remy took from the bag a pouch that he strapped to his thigh and an extending staff that he clipped to his boot.

“Listen,” Remy said. “While we’re waiting for Bets and Laura to do their thing, I got something I need to say.”

“If it's about Tokyo, then save it,” Bishop said, checking the clip on his gun. “You were just trying to complete the mission - I can respect that.”

“Well, I’m sorry regardless.”

They looked at each as the crickets sang in the woods around them. Finally, Bishop said, “You’re not going to try to kiss me are you?”

“You ain’t quite my type, mon ami,” Remy said and grinned.

“Same. Now, can you keep an eye out while I get this disruptor ready? I don’t want one of these idiots finding us.”

Remy peaked around the corner of the building and watched a pair of the guards partaking in a smoke break out by the entrance of the house.

“Mon dieu,” he whispered. “Shaw really brought out the forces tonight.”

“Well, he probably expects that we would figure out to come here eventually,” Bishop said, programming something into the device. “I just hope he thinks it will take more time.”

“Same here,” Remy said and then shook his head. “What kinda guards are these guys? I think that one has a grenade launcher.”

#

Bloodshed defined Alexei Petrovich’s life. Even as an infant, he was born into bloodshed as he was ripped from his mother’s womb and then tossed into the front-lines of war. But it was during these formative years that he realized he actually enjoyed the recoil of a gun ripple through his muscles, the smell of gunpowder, and the taste of blood, whether it was his own or his enemy’s.

Petrovich could have retired a long time ago, but then what would he do? Spend all of his money on drugs and women? No, he wanted to do something more. So, he formed his own team of blood-lusted ex-soldiers like himself and sold to the highest bidder. This time around, it was a mysterious man who just wanted his house guarded. Usually, Petrovich would say “no” to something so easy - he didn’t want his men getting soft. But the pay was just too good to pass up. And after their botched attempt to take down a SHIELD convoy in Venezuela, they needed a win.

So, enjoying his very rare steak, Petrovich was almost giddy when he was radioed by one of his men at the entrance that a vehicle was approaching.

“What kind of vehicle?” he asked.

“Black Lexus,” the man said.

“Sounds like our generous benefactor. I’ll be right there,” Petrovich said. He grabbed his steak with his gloved hands and ripped off parts from it as he made his way out of the kitchen towards the front door.

#

The Lexus was in fact a black, nondescript truck. It grumbled down the winding driveway, between trees and weeds, as it got closer and closer to the mansion. Betsy sat behind the wheel, rubbing at the pendant around her neck nervously. The pendant they had gotten just a few days before from a riverboat owner. According to Bishop, it amplified one’s powers and could even tap into latent abilities, but the drawback was that they weren’t sure where the pendant came from, so for all Betsy knew, there could be some major side effects from the pendant.

Pushing those thoughts from her mind, Betsy looked through the rear-view mirror to Laura, who was riding in the bed of the truck. The girl looked serious but cool and composed. It was moments like these where she remembered just who it was the girl came from.

Laura leaned in through the back window and said, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” Betsy said, although that was a partial lie. “Why, are you having second thoughts?”

Laura stared at her. “Never.”

“Well, we’re about here,” Betsy said. She instinctively touched the pendant again. “Time to try this thing out.”

Testing. Testing. Can you read me?

_Yes_ , said Laura.

_Oui_ , said Remy.

_We read you_ , came Bishop.

_Okay, team. Let’s do this._

#

Remy and Bishop made their way across the yard as many of the mercs’ attentions were on the black vehicle that pulled up in the driveway. They stopped as they got to the hedges that led to the garden in the back. On their way, they caught sight of a large bald man walking down the steps, passing a pair of guards at attention.

“Well, let’s hope this works,” Remy said.

“It will,” Bishop said.

After another guard passed, the two men hurried along the hedge wall and to the side of the building, where there was supposed to be a side door that led into the garage. There was, but the handle wouldn’t budge when Bishop first tried to twist it.

“You’re up,” he said and slid back onto the wall, keeping watch.

Remy had the lock picked and open in no time. “You know, I figured the garage would be a bit bigger.”

The garage, which currently held only one vehicle in it, was roughly the size of a small airplane hanger. The smell of dust mixed with oil permeated the concrete floors. There was no one guarding the area from inside, although there was the red flash of surveillance cameras around the garage - one just above them and one on the opposite side of the garage.

Bishop was already on it, though, pointing the device at the opposite camera, looping what had been playing for the last ten seconds before they broke in.

“Good work, homme,” Remy said. “I’ll get this one.”

The thief gripped the stone and slowly began to crawl up the wall to the camera above. Once there, he brought out a small device the size of a golf ball that had a wire hanging out of it. In the blink of an eye - or a flash of static from what the guards in the surveillance room saw - Remy unhooked a chord that was feeding footage of the room and plugged in the device.

“How long you think it’ll be before they notice they’re getting looped feedback?” Remy said as he jumped back down to the floor.

“Hopefully long enough for us to be outta here,” Bishop replied.

#

Petrovich stood by the driveway as the Lexus pulled up while his two best soldiers, Abi Raith and Kenneth Lee, stood at attention. The car’s engine died and out from the driver’s seat stepped a woman wearing a pantsuit and a stoic expression on her face.

“Welcome, welcome,” Petrovich said. His pinky was jammed in between his cheek and his molars trying to pick out a piece of steak from between his teeth.

“Name’s…” Betsy began, but had been so focused on trying to create this illusion for herself as well as the truck that she forgot to think of a name. “Shaara.”

“Alexei Petrovich.” He stuck a meaty hand out, but Betsy didn’t even bother to look at it, let alone shake. “I did not realize anyone would be arriving today.”

“You’re not cleared to know every detail, Mr. Petrovich,” Betsy said. She walked past Raith and Lee at attention and continued up the steps to the front door. She stopped at the door and turned around to two mercs. “It’s really not necessary to guard my car. I don’t think anyone will steal it in the 15 minutes I’ll be here.”

The two of them looked to their boss uneasily, who only shrugged and nodded. Together they followed “Shaara” into the house. After a beat, there was a small blur as Laura darted from the back of the truck to the bushes by the mansion where there was one grate that led into the ventilation system.

_Okay, boys_ , Betsy said. _You’re up._

#

Bishop was in the middle of disabling another camera in the upper level when Remy said, “You know, I kinda figured there’d be a few more guards inside than this.”

“Must be too preoccupied making sure no one gets in.” He finished and gently got down from the table he was standing on.

“So, what are we thinking, mon ami?” Remy whispered as they tiptoed down the carpeted corridor. “I go in and distract ‘em and you come in guns blazin’? Vice versa? Get ‘em at the same time?”

Bishop nodded. “You’re the distraction.”

“You’re the ‘boom’.”

They crept down to the end of the corridor, where it led them to a pair of large wooden doors, where there was some chatter seeping out from. One of the doors was ajar, leaving enough visibility for them to be able to see inside. Remy leaned forward, not even allowing the floor to creak and got a quick look at what they were dealing with.

Inside, he saw two mercs sitting in what was once a parlor. One of the mercs sat before a wall of computer screens that monitored all of the security cameras. The other, who was leaning up against a wall, dug through a bag of trail mix with his thumb and forefinger.

“Why do they always put raisins in this?” the standing merc said. “No one likes raisins.”

“I like raisins,” the sitting merc said.

“You’re the excep -”

The standing guard fell, but the bag didn’t fall with him.

“What?” the sitting guard asked. He turned to see a man with black eyes and red pupils now digging through the bag.

“I’m with you, homme,” he said. “I like the raisins.”

Then he felt the lights behind him being blotted out by someone else. He turned a little more and saw a large man with a goatee, but this man was soon obscured by a fist.

And with that, the sitting guard became the lying guard.

Bishop sat down before the screens and watched Betsy as “Shaara” walking through the sitting room behind Petrovich towards the back door. In one of the monitors in the lower level, near the private movie theater, he thought he saw something dart from one of the vents, but wasn’t quite fast enough. He scanned some of the other cameras, noting the various bedrooms, the library, the second library, the sauna and spa, but he just shook his head in frustration.

“I can’t find anything,” he said.

In their minds, they could hear Betsy, but just barely. _Basement_.

Remy came over and pointed to one of the screens. “Where does that lead to?”

This camera was hanging from the ceiling of one of the many hallways that split in a T-intersection. To the left, it led to the theater - to the right, the library. But there was just barely the hint of a door towards the right. They watched as a merc walked by it, got to the library and turned around towards the theater, then turning back around and repeating his path.

_Betsy. We’ve found something._

#

Laura received Bishop’s message about the door down the hallway from her, but she already knew. She could hear the merc hold his breath everytime he walked past it. She could smell the the mixture of metal and rock on the other side, as well as sweat.

Laura hid behind one of the oversized recliners in the theater, waiting for the merc to head back down the hallway. When he did, she leapt over the chair and raced over to the wall, where she leaned her back up against it. Laura listened intently as the merc’s footsteps grew louder, stopped, and then began to fade away again. Taking one last deep breath, she popped her claws and rounded the corner, ready to pounce.

But no one was there. The footsteps and the feet they came from had disappeared. Laura stalked down the hallway to the library, hoping to hear some movement from there, but there was nothing. She walked around inside between the many bookcases, taking in the scent of the old books that had been collecting dust for years.

_Uh, guys? Did you see where that guard went to?_

But there was no response

Laura walked back out of the library, not even trying to stay quiet anymore. There were only two options for what was going on: she scared off the merc or he was setting a trap. Either way, they knew she was here.

As she neared the door, the girl considered her options. She could leave and regroup with her team, but risk being caught -- or worse: let Betsy down.

Or, Laura could just open the door and if there was a trap, she would deal with it.

So, the girl grabbed the doorknob and was just beginning to twist it when her ears perked up. She turned just in time to see a pair of mercs aiming large guns at her. The guns glowed blue and before she could react, Laura was hit by two large orbs of fiery light.

Then she only knew pain.

And darkness.

#

_X-23! Laura!_

Bishop and Remy tried to communicate as loud as they could with their thoughts, which was both nonsensical and fruitless. Laura couldn’t hear them before she was gunned down before their eyes. The merc who had disappeared behind the mystery door opened it back up and slapped a pair of restraints around her neck, wrists, and ankles. And then they began to drag her into the room.

“I’m going down there,” Remy said, jumping up from his seat.

“Wait,” Bishop said, grabbing his arm.

The thief wrenched his hand from his teammates grasp and looked at him with a wicked intensity. “Have you been paying attention? Laura just got shot. And it seems like it was with something pretty deadly, even for her.”

“They know we’re here,” Bishop said. “If you go down there, they’ll do the same for you. At least Laura has a healing factor.”

“What about Betsy? She’s a sitting duck down there. We just gonna let them take her too?”

Bishop looked at Remy sternly. “We need a plan.”

“Well, the longer we come up with one, the less time our teammates have, so I ain’t waitin’ any longer.”

“You won’t have to,” a voice said from behind them. They both turned to the doorway to see Espinoza walk in. “Submit and you won't be -”

Remy didn't let her finish. He rushed at her with his bo staff and brought it down hard on her head.

Espinoza transformed her hands into sickles and began to slash at the thief. Remy dodged each swipe, even parrying a couple with his staff.

Bishop was up, ready to fire a round, but didn’t.

“What are you doing?” Remy said. “I'm the distraction, you're the ‘boom.’”

“I don't want to take a chance hitting you,” Bishop replied.

“Just take it!” Remy shouted, jumping up into the air to keep his legs from be sliced off.

As he came down, though, Espinoza hit his ankles with the back of her blade, sending him crashing into the table. Again, she transformed a blade to a hand and held him against the wall.

Bishop took one last second, lined up the shot how he wanted it, and fired. The blast hit Espinoza square in the cheek, causing her to stumble and fall. When she picked herself back up, the hologram began to fade, revealing a robotic figure.

“Danger?” Remy said. Her response was to try and stab him again, but bishop fired another round at her hand.

Danger turned to Bishop. “Why are you doing this? You know how vital of a role he plays in this. You know it's better to just eliminate him now.”

“I changed my mind,” Bishop said. “We aren't preventing the apocalypse by murdering one of our own.”

Danger’s glowing red eyes narrowed. “One of your own, you mean.”

The mechanical woman picked up Remy, somewhat off-guard from this exchange, by the throat and slammed him against a wall, cracking a mirror behind him. She then lifted her bladed hand to his throat.

“Now you submit,” Danger said, turning back to Bishop. “Now, Mr. Bishop.”

“Dn’t wrry abit me,” Remy said through a clenched jaw.

But before Bishop could make his decision, in through the door burst two more mercs, each aiming a gun at the back of Bishop’s head.

“Submit,” Danger said.

With one last reluctant glance to Remy, Bishop dropped his gun and fell to his knees. The mercs grabbed his arms and slapped a pair of cuffs around them while Danger did the same to Remy.

Bishop, feeling Remy’s eyes on him, looked over to the thief to see him staring at him. Bishop tried to muster a smile or a head-nod to tell him it would all be okay, but Remy didn't pick up on it. He just stared at Bishop, trying to get some sort of a read on the man.

#

“As you can see,” Petrovich said, taking Betsy to the kitchen, where the windows circled around so she could see the many mercs walking around the property. “We have the place well-guarded. There is no need for worry.”

“Tell that to our employer,” Betsy said. A shot of pain coursed through her head, followed by a quick bout of nausea. She placed a finger on her temple and grimaced.

“Everything okay, Ms. Shaara?” Petrovich asked, but he made no effort to help her. He held his arms crossed.

“Fine,” Betsy said. She’d been doing her best to try and read the minds of Petrovich and his two soldiers, but there was something protecting them, some barrier. The strain of using her powers so much through this device was beginning to take its toll.

There was a thump that came from inside, followed by shouting.

“What was that?” Betsy asked. She felt Lee’s rifle on the back of her head.

“I do not think you are who you say you are,” Petrovich said. He still had his arms crossed and his head to the side, as if he were merely making an observation.

Betsy summoned what strength she had and spun, creating a psy-knife and cutting the rifle into two. She delivered a quick kick to Lee’s head, lifting him from his feet and then went for Raith. The merc was just about to pull her trigger on Betsy, when she rolled to the ground, somersaulting and then coming up and uppercutting Raith before she could get a round off.

Then, she turned and got into a stance, bracing herself for whatever attack Petrovich was about to deliver, but he still stood there, arms crossed. She noted he didn’t even had a weapon, save for a large knife sticking from his boot.

“You know, you should not have tried to poke around my head like you have been.” Petrovich pulled the glove from his left hand off, revealing it to be metal and cybernetic. “We have implants that keep people like you out.”

“Reavers,” Betsy spat. She felt her nose go warm as a trickle of blood flowed from it. More pain began to flow through her mind, so she grabbed the rune from her neck and ripped it away.

“Our employer asked for the best,” Petrovich said. “And so he got it.”

There was a flurry of thoughts that stormed inside Betsy’s mind as she considered her options. Petrovich was larger, stronger, and possibly faster, so to strike first would be to give him the advantage. However, there were undoubtedly more mercs coming their way and she knew she wouldn’t be able to take them all down.

So, Betsy went with her only option - she charged at the man. Petrovich spread his feet and got down a little lower, as if getting ready to wrestle a bear. As Betsy’s fist came to connect with the man’s jaw, Petrovich grappled Betsy throwing her down to the ground.

The wind left Betsy’s body for a moment, and she could feel white hot pain all down her back. Twisting her body and pulling herself back up, Betsy went low, swiping at Petrovich’s legs, which caused him to teeter over, but not fall. Instead, he used his momentum to raise a boot and bring it crashing down on her chest.

Betsy shouted in pain, tasting the blood in her mouth now. But again, she rose up, ready to fight. This time, however, her hands began to feel heavier, her legs like bags of sand.

Petrovich attacked, trying to grab at her with his robotic hand, but Betsy was able to jerk away from him so he didn’t even glance her. She used his own momentum against time, pulling slightly on his arm with one hand to bring him closer to her, and then jammy a psy-knife into the side of his head with the other hand. The man’s eyes went wide either from pain or surprise, then they went blank and he toppled over to the ground.

“Alright,” Betsy said to herself, wiping blood from her mouth. In the background, she could hear more mercs coming her way, so she would have to ask.

She reached down for the rune, but before she could, a furry blue paw came down on it, blocking her from it. Betsy looked up just in time to see the figure swoop in with a syringe and felt its prick in her arm. Immediately, the effects started to take hold of her, dragging her consciousness into oblivion.

“Hank?” Betsy said with her final lucid breath.

Then she saw the fur was actually more of a grey than a blue.

“Not quite,” Dark Beast said with a grin.

#

Silas Reech needed a smoke. It wasn’t the first time he shot a such a young girl with a plasma rifle, but it wasn’t exactly something he got used to. He thought about Candy Cross, his “partner” in gunning her down, and wondered if she felt the same as he did. Probably, he thought as he took one last long, warm drag from his cigarette and flicked it into the bushes. No one could be so heartless.

As he went back inside, Reech made sure not to make eye contact with the great-furred mutant nor the robot lady he spoke to about something that was way above his pay-grade. Instead, he just stared straight ahead towards his destination - there were still some things about the service that would always stick.

On the way downstairs, the merc grabbed a water bottle as well as a couple snacks. He wasn’t necessarily hungry, but he figured the snacks would give him something else to get his mind off of everything. When he opened the door into the basement room where the girl was being kept, he saw that the place was completely black.

When he leaned forward to get a closer look, a small hand reached out, took Reech by the collar, and pulled him into the darkness. When the lights went back on, Laura stood before the unconscious bodies of both mercs.

The restraints that Laura had been in and, subsequently, broken out of, were power dampeners, keeping her from healing. So, the pain she felt in her chest and back was like someone had built a campfire on her. But the fire was slowing going out now.

Laura took one more second to heal and then went for the door.

“Hey,” came a voice in the darkness, causing Laura to pop her claws again. She turned and looked, realizing that she hadn’t even searched the room for what she was looking for.

On the wall, there was a large yellow lever that was flipped down. Laura went over to it and flipped it up, creating a ripple of humming as lights that lined the ceiling powered up, basking the room in green.

The room, Laura soon found, was not a room at all but more like a cavern. It was dug out from the earth in a circular shape, possibly 25 meters in circumference and with a ceiling only 12 feet tall. In the center of the circle was what looked like a crater with two pillars on opposite sides of it. The pillars were made of a green rock and covered with runes like the ones from Shaw’s notebook.

And chained in between both pillars was a woman with green hair. She was beautiful despite the soot and the fact that she was dressed in an old t-shirt and sweatpants.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” the woman said. “No offense, but I was expecting one of the big guns.”

Laura’s hand hovered the switch in case she wanted to pull it again. “You’re Magneto’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Lorna,” she replied, testily. “Or Polaris. Now, can you please get me out of here?”

Laura walked over to the pit, taking in the surroundings. There were no other exits of any kind where someone else might come through, but she still wanted to be careful just in case. The air only smelled like Lorna for the most part, but there was the ancient scents of a history of heinous acts taken place so long ago.

After cutting the chains that shackled Lorna to the pillars, she fell to the floor, her legs weak from lack of use. Laura helped her up and then cut the power dampener from her wrist.

“So, you’re Wolverine’s clone,” Lorna said. She began to stumble toward the door.

“Laura.”

“Well, Laura,” Lorna replied. “As you can see from my PJs and difficulty walking, I’m not going to be much use to you. But I’m assuming you and your team have some sort of a plan. So, what is it?”

The girl paused for a moment, suddenly ready to clam up. She couldn’t just tell this woman that there was no plan. That there could be more Reavers coming their way right at that second with more guns and more restraints.

So she didn't.

“Well, those Reavers took us by surprise. They attacked my friends...er, teammates, and tried their best to kill us. They took their best shot,” Laura said.

She turned the doorknob and opened it.

“Now it’s our turn.”


	4. Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being imprisoned by Dark Beast and the Reavers. The X-Force make a daring escape. If only it were that easy...

Betsy Braddock struggled to keep her eyes from sliding shut, but she forced them open. There were a few factors at play, making it more of a struggle than usual, including the residual effects of a tranquilizer and the bright lights that hung over her body. For each of these factors, though, there were at least three reasons why she had to go on.

There was, of course, her need to save her friends as well as the matter of finding out some information about Shaw’s doings, making it so the mission wasn't a complete failure.

But the thing that kept Betsy awake as she felt herself slipping into slumber atop the metal surgical table she was harnessed down to was this: She really did not want to die. Again.

“How did you come upon this little trinket?” a familiar-but-not-so-familiar-voice asked. It was an alternate-universe Hank McCoy, known as Dark Beast. He sat behind a wall of computers, one of which was connected to a set of wires that ran down along the floor and ended at a pair of suction cups that were stuck to Betsy’s temples.

“Family heirloom,” Betsy said. She felt her voice catch in her throat, parched and weak, triggering a bout of coughs. Instinctively, she tried lifting a hand to cover her mouth - always a lady - but her hand was bound by a leather strap.

The clacking of the mad scientist’s claws typing across the keyboard stopped. “So, you don’t know?”

“No.” 

“Interesting.” McCoy continued typing. “And you said there was some discomfort from using it? Headaches? Disorientation?”

“What?” Betsy asked. The fog was lifting, but not fast enough. She knew what she needed to do, but she still felt like there were blinders on her, keeping her restrained. However, if she could just focus on the harness, and free just one hand, just for a moment, she still had a chance.

Betsy channeled whatever energy she could on the harness strapping down her right hand. In her mind, she could feel the toughened leather of the strap, but her mind was additionally clouded by the echoes of the psyches of so many others who had lived such short, tortured lives under McCoy’s care. But she pushed that out of her mind and only thought about the strap.

Gritting her teeth, Betsy focused her powers on pulling the strap out of the loop, which proved to be harder to execute. Her mind was still weak and groggy, making every centimeter she moved the strap feel like a mile. She was close to getting it...only another inch...

“Betsy? Elizabeth?” McCoy said. He looked down at one of his monitors and chuckled. “Ah, I see you’re exerting a great amount of mental faculties. You wouldn’t be using her telekinesis would you?”

Betsy said nothing because nothing she could say would help her now.

McCoy walked from behind his computers and across the room to a glass cabinet full of vials. He opened it and took out one from the top shelf, then proceeded to take a syringe from his pocket and insert it into the top of the vial, drawing a good dose of it into the syringe.

“Now,” he said, approaching her with a vial full of a purple liquid. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.”

“What is that?” Betsy asked.

“It’s just a little more of that sedative I gave you earlier,” he said. “Obviously it’s beginning to wear off.”

“You keep your bloody paws away from me,” Betsy said.

The Dark Beast smiled wildly. “They don’t have that much blood on them, Elizabeth. Surely, no more than yours.”

He placed a grey-haired hand on Betsy’s arm and ran a cotton swab that smelled of alcohol over a spot in the crook of her elbow.

“People might say Dr. Henry McCoy is a monster,” he said and winked. “But they can never say that he isn’t sanitary.”

Next, McCoy brought out the syringe, let a jet of it shoot out onto the floor and brought it down to the spot on Betsy’s arm. She felt it prick her, but it never broke the skin. Before it could, the door to the room burst open.

“Mr. Petrovich,” McCoy said, his cheerful demeanor evaporating. “What is it?”

“Doctor McCoy,” Petrovich said. “We have a situation.”

“Yes?” 

“The girl -- the Wolverine clone -- she is alive,” Petrovich said. “And she has broken the test subject from her power dampener.”

“Oh dear,” McCoy said. He walked back to the glass cabinet with the vials and took a couple out, placing them into the pocket of his lab coat. On his way out, he said to Petrovich, “Keep an eye on her.”

He better not say it, Betsy thought to herself.

Dark Beast popped his head back in and grinned. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Betsy rolled her eyes at that and then made eye contact with Petrovich, who stared at her from the other side of the room. He slowly walked around the table where Betsy lied, silently calculating his next move.

“So, how did you walk away from my Psychic Knife?” she asked Petrovich. “When your lights went out, I wasn’t sure they would ever turn back on.”

“Dr. McCoy,” Petrovich said. “He fixed me up. In fact, he is the one who gave augmented our bodies for us, making us perfect.”

“Well,” Betsy said. “But apparently you still need help fighting off a little girl with indestructible claws and a woman who controls metal.”

“I am not worried,” Petrovich said. He walked over to the table and loosened one of the straps enough for Betsy to get out. “But perhaps you should be.”

#

“So,” Bishop said,

“So,” Remy replied.

Those were the first words either man had spoken in the last hour. For the rest of the time, they were motionless, their hands and feet bound together with cuffs. Remy, after being identified as a master thief, was given two sets of cuffs instead of just one.

Bishop decided to start the conversation. “Something on your -”

“Why the hell is Danger working with Shaw?” Remy replied. “And why do you seem to know so much about her? And why did she try to kill me and why did you almost let her?”

Bishop took a deep breath. “When Blink appeared weeks ago, speaking nonsense about her future, I was able to get two key pieces: an alliance between Shaw and Danger. I didn't know how to get to Shaw, but I knew how to get to Danger. So, I got to her first, showed her what was to come, and she agreed to help.”

“Just like that?” Remy asked.

“Danger is an AI,” Bishop said. “She might want Charles Xavier dead, but not enough to want the rest of the world to burn.”

Remy’s expression hadn't changed the whole time. “And what's my hand in all this? Why am I too dangerous to keep alive?”

Bishop looked at him for a long time before dropping his eyes to the floor. “I don’t know. I think I did, but it’s faded away from me like a bad dream, which could very well mean that you don’t anymore. Your actions could indirectly lead to the apocalypse, but that’s not enough for me to say you should die.”

Both men went silent, leaving only the hum of the computers and murmur distant voices. 

“Listen,” Bishop said. “I know I probably have a lot to answer for, especially after putting you through the ringer for so many years about your secrets. You deserved to know and if you did and I had told you and Betsy from the get-go, we probably wouldn’t be in this situation. So, I’m sorry. I...have trust issues.”

When Bishop looked back up to Remy, he saw him looking off into the distance, a grin on his face.

“Why are you smiling?” Bishop asked. “I just apologized to you and you look like I just told you a joke.”

“Oh, merci,” Remy said. “I just found a bobby pin up my sleeve that I must have forgotten about.” 

There was a click and followed by the clinking of handcuffs dropping to the floor.

Remy stood up and stretched himself out before going over and unlocking Bishop’s cuffs.

“I ain’t one to judge someone for keeping secrets. But don’t make me regret letting you out, mon ami. Otherwise, there won’t be much of a future for you, good or bad.”

The tone in Remy’s voice made it sound like a joke, but Bishop could see in his eyes that he meant it.

#

“This isn’t going well, X,” Lorna yelled over the siren.

“It would be easier,” Laura said, hopping off of another merc, “if you weren’t slowing me down.”

Lorna let go of the recliner that she had been gripping onto for support and stumbled over steps that led into a bar. There were only four steps she needed to overcome in order to get up into the bar, but her legs were weak and her feet still a little numb. Each time Lorna shifted the weight on her feet, pins and needles sprung up, sending pain up her leg. But eventually she made it up.

“See that?” Lorna said. “I didn’t need you there.”

A pair of mercs ran into the bar, their rifles drawn directly on Lorna. Laura popped her claws and lept into action, but she was too late. With the sweep of her hand, the green haired mutant flipped the rifles up sharply, connecting with each merc in the face and knocking them unconscious.

Lorna turned to the girl. “Need more proof?”

Laura just rolled her eyes and went forward to the doorway ahead. She poked her head through and saw the stairway to the main level. It was clear, but she could smell new blood coming. She turned around to tell Lorna what she saw, only to find the woman slurping water from the tap.

“I’m...sorry,” Lorna said, a little breathless. “That helps.”

“Let’s go,” Laura said. “More are coming.”

Lorna walked to the door, a little wobbly still, but able to do it without the assistance of Laura. They walked out of the double doors, and hurried across the maroon carpet to the stairs, where they ascended. They made it halfway up when McCoy seemingly came out of nowhere, flanked two pairs of mercs. One pair carried the plasma rifles that his Laura earlier. Just seeing them gave her phantom pain on her torso.

“Lorna,” McCoy said. “For old time’s sake, I’m going to tell you once: surrender yourselves and we will make this easy on you and the girl.”

“Easy how?” Lorna said. “You know as well as I do that as soon as I surrender, you’re going to strap me back to those pillars and then you’re going to experiment on the child.”

“I would never,” McCoy said, monotone.

“Next time try a little harder to conceal your glee,” Lorna said.

“Enough,” McCoy said with a bit of a growl. “It’s time to come with us now. I promise I’ll find the coziest dog house for X-23.”

Lorna looked to the girl. The fury in Laura’s eyes sparked up at the idea of being caged.

“No,” Lorna said.

“Fine,” McCoy said. He turned to signal for the mercs on his sides to take them down, but he saw that they were now pointing their weapons at McCoy. Function of their cybernetic hands no longers seemed to be under their control. He turned back to Lorna to see her floating in mid air, arms extended and eyes completely white.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think while chained up to that contraption of yours, McCoy,” she said. “And I’ve also had a lot of time grow more pissed off. Step away. Now.”

“Perhaps,” McCoy began, “we can come to an arrangement.”

“With you?” Lorna sneered. “I’m not accepting anything less than you stepping back and letting us through.”

“I’d take her up on her offer,” a voice said. Above them, perched atop the guard rail was Remy. Next to him was Bishop, his gun drawn on McCoy. “I think you’ll like hers more than ours.”

The Dark Beast looked at the mercs, whose faces were red from trying to move their arms -- even using their whole bodies -- in another direction. Then he looked to the thief above him, wearing a smirk. And finally to Polaris, sweat pouring down her face.

“Fine.”

Lorna floated up the stairs slowly, Laura following. Both kept their eyes on McCoy since it didn’t seem the Reavers didn’t appear to be having any success in lowering their weapons. Finally, as they made it to the top of the stairs, Remy saw Lorna’s composure beginning to slip.

“Well, mes amis,” Remy said. He pulled a half-stack of cards from his pouch and charged them. “This is where we bid you a fond farewell.”

The master thief dropped just as Lorna collapsed to the floor from exhaustion. The Reavers finally had control of their arms, but they had no time to do anything but scatter to the sides to avoid being hit by the cards as they began to pop in rapid succession like firecrackers.

“C’mon, chere,” Remy said, picking up Lorna. “Let’s get you outta here.”

“My hero,” Lorna said, sarcastically between labored breaths. “So, what do we are we leaving in? Blackbird? Blackwing?”

“Not exactly,” Bishop said. “But we’ll make do.”

“Where’s Psylocke?” Laura asked as they rounded a corner.

“We’re picking her up on the way,” Bishop said. “Then we’re getting the hell outta here.”

#

From her mind to the tip of her pink toe, which Betsy was pretty sure was broken, the woman felt nothing but pain. She got to her feet and prepared for another barrage of punches from the 6’2” cyborg. In these close quarters, he had every advantage.

Petrovich stood between Betsy and the door, keeping her from completely retreating from the fight. He was too smart to throw her towards the door, but perhaps she would be able to get the man to throw her elsewhere. It was as if the large cyborg of a man was her dance partner: she just needed to lead him.

With this in mind, Betsy stepped forward and then to the left as Petrovich grabbed for her, narrowly missing. This was not luck for Betsy, but skill. She felt his rhythm, the beat of his heart. As he missed, Betsy threw a punch, but purposely slow so that Petrovich could grab her.

Now comes the painful part, Betsy thought as she felt the man throw her to the right of the room. Her back hit glass, shattering it and fell with her as she landed on the floor. She looked up and saw now that McCoy’s entire apothecary cabinet, full of vials. But she had no time to figure out what she needed -- Petrovich was already coming towards her again. Without even looking at what she was grabbing for, Betsy reached back and took a handful of vials.

“Alright,” she said, eyeing a red liquid that splashed around in the vial. “Let’s see what you do.”

Petrovich stopped in his tracks as he saw Betsy lift the vial and throw it at his feet. He winced and took a step back as the glass broke and the air filled with ammonia. After a moment of nothing happening, the man smiled and began to walk forward again.

“Bollocks,” Betsy muttered. She gripped the two other vials in her hand and braced herself for more.

This time, the Reaver leader picked up a chair on his way and swung it at the woman in a windmill fashion. Betsy dove to the side, feeling splinters spray her legs as the wood crashed into the floor right next to her.

“Let’s try this one,” she said and tossed down another vial. 

This time, when the glass broke, alcohol drifted up into the air. The air was so pungent in those few seconds with whatever the liquid was that Betsy had to raise her sleeve to her mouth to be able to get any here. She looked back at Petrovich, who looked a little annoyed, but certainly not down for the count.

The Reaver smirked and came forward again. He wasn’t more than two steps away from being able to grab Betsy when the door opened.

“What is going on here?” Danger asked. She was flanked by a pair of Reavers.

“You are not needed here,” Petrovich said.

“Shaw wants her alive,” Danger said. “Cease this before you kill her.”

Petrovich never took his eyes from Betsy as he spoke. “What if she was killed during the struggle? Just an honest accident. I’m sure Mr. Shaw would understand.”

Just then, the doors burst open and in rushed Laura and Bishop. Bishop fired off a few rounds in a scattered succession with one of the merc’s assault rifles. None of the shots did much damage to Danger or Petrovich, but the distraction allowed for Betsy to deliver a kick at Petrovich’s legs toppling him.

With her claws popped, Laura pounced on one of the mercs, slicing his gun in two. Another merc tried to fire at Laura, but she leaped off of the first, onto the second too quickly. It was a matter of moments before both were down.

“Betsy!” Bishop shouted. “Let’s go!”

The woman was two steps ahead of him, though. Betsy had already jumped back to her feet and was running across the room when Petrovich landed. She signaled for Laura to come and then threw the last vial into the air as they ran out together. Bishop glanced one last time at Danger before the glass exploded with fire and glass, but was none too surprised to see that the AI’s face was as cold and expressionless as it had ever been.

#

Smoke filled Petrovich’s lungs as he felt himself being pulled up by a metal hand. He looked up, expecting it to be one of his men, but the metal hand was connected to a similarly metal body. Around him the flames began to get higher and higher, licking the walls and the ceiling.

“They are getting away,” Danger said.

“Well, let’s go get them,” Petrovich said. He began to run for the corridor, but Danger quickly stopped him. “What are you doing?”

“There’s another way,” Danger said, calm even for an AI. “Follow me.”

#

“This is your getaway vehicle?” Lorna asked.

“Yup,” Remy said, still holding the tarp he had just pulled from the vehicle.

The thing they stood before was in the shape of an oval, but divided into four parts. There were seats in each part, and the whole thing was opened up at the top, without even glass to shield its occupants from the weather. If it weren’t for the giant 4s on each side, the thing would just look like an oversized bathtub.

“Is this…” Lorna began.

“A Fantasticar? Probably a Mark I?” Remy said. “Oui.”

“How did Shaw come by this?”

“I do not know,” Remy said and then grinned. “But we’re going to steal it.”

“How do we get it out of here?” Lorna asked.

Remy pointed up. The ceiling of the garage, unlike most, was made of metal, domed, and had a large line going through the middle of it.

“Looks like an old skylight. Probably just big enough to get this old thing through, but it’s better than the alternative.”

Outside, there were the shouts of more Reavers arriving as well as a few that were trying unsuccessfully to get into the garage. In the middle of the confusion, though, the doors from the house swung open and Betsy, Bishop, and Laura ran through. Bishop got to work barricading the door as the other two ran up to the Fantasticar.

“Polaris,” Betsy said, a little out of breath.

“Psylocke,” Lorna replied. “It’s good to see you on your feet again so soon after...well, you know.”

“I wish I could say the same about you,” Betsy replied. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look bloody awful.”

Lorna smirked. “I feel better than I look.”

Remy sniffed and looked to Laura. “Did you guys start a fire?”

“Maybe a little,” the girl said.

The muffled bang of an explosion outside rattled the doors slightly, causing everyone to jump. The Reavers’ voices were getting louder and smoke began to seep in through the cracks of the door. The X-Force jumped to action.

“Okay, Bishop, you’re behind the wheel,” Betsy said. “Gambit, hit the switch and open that skylight so we can get out of here.”

The thief went to a metal box on the side of the doors and tried the switched a few times, but there was nothing, but the smell of dust from the box as well as cobwebs surrounding its switches. Remy frowned and shrugged.

“Okay,” Betsy said. “Polaris, I need you to use whatever strength you have to get those doors open.”

Lorna nodded and began to pull the doors apart with her powers. They were heavy -- but they would part for her. They had to.

“How do you start this thing?” Bishop said, looking around at what was once Reed Richard’s controls. “There’s not even a key to start it.”

“Figure it out,” Betsy snapped. “And fast.”

What they didn’t see was Danger and Petrovich burst through a grate in the middle of the garage floor. They saw the X-Force and immediately sprung into action, hurrying towards them. Petrovich, armed with a plasma rifle, fired a round at them, but narrowly missed. At that moment, a burst of light sparked from the bay doors outside as the Reaver’s began to apparently blow torch the metal in an attempt to break through.

“Gambit, let’s buy these two some time,” she said.

“What about me?” Laura asked. “I can fight, too.”

“I need you here,” Betsy said. “If they get through us, you’re the last line of defense.”

Laura opened her mouth as if she were about to say something, but only nodded. She stayed back and watched as Betsy and Remy ran towards Danger and Petrovich.

“Which one you want?” Remy asked, pulling his staff out.

Betsy’s response came in the form of her hurtling towards Petrovich, a psy-blade raised and ready to strike. As the Reaver raised his plasma rifle up, Betsy knocked it away with a swift kick. Petrovich struck at her with his bionic fist, but she dodged it with ease and followed it with a strike of her own. Her blade of pink light skimmed past the Reaver’s head, barely nicking his ear.

What Petrovich did not anticipate, let alone see, was the second psy-blade come around from the left and drive straight into his head. He stumbled and swayed for a moment as if he were about to fall. But he didn't. Straightening out, Petrovich smiled and tilted his head to the side.

“That's the good thing about Dr. McCoy’s work on us,” he said. “We are always evolving.”

Meanwhile, Remy sparred with Danger, him using his staff and her using her bladed hands again.

“How long we gotta keep dis up, chere?” Remy said swinging at Danger. The robot blocked his strike.

“Not long, LeBeau,” Danger said. She locked his staff in place with her blades and swept her leg low, toppling the thief. “I know all of your moves. You trained with me before you even knew what I was.”

“Maybe,” Remy said. “But I still got another trick for you.”

Remy’s knees buckled and he used the momentum to swing his staff over him in a windmill fashion, carrying Danger with it. She rolled from the floor and stood up, ready to fight, but she was too slow. With the end of his staff, Remy jabbed at the robot’s face and chest, disorienting her more, before bringing it back and uppercutting her in one swift motion.

Danger fell backwards and landed on the ground with a loud bang. The little blue lights of her eyes slowly faded away.

“Well, that was easy,” Remy said.

“I got it!” Bishop said as the Fantasticar lifted up just inches from the ground. “Let’s go!”

“Betsy!” Remy said. He found her nearby, still fighting Petrovich, but the man was bruised and hard to stay on his feet.

She jabbed at the man, who swung back in response, but too slow. She kicked him and he did the same, but again, too slow. Through his bulbous, blackened eyes, he could barely see Betsy. She was just toying with him.

“We need to go!” Remy shouted.

She wasn’t listening though.

“Betsy,” Remy said. He grabbed her shoulder. She jerked and looked up at him, blood in her eyes. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

The blood faded away and she nodded. With one last spinning kick, she sent Petrovich to the ground. Together Betsy and Remy ran back to the Fantasticar where Lorna was clearly struggling from her spot.

“I can’t do it,” Lorna said. Sweat poured down from her face. “I’m tapped out.”

“Well, what do we do then?” Bishop asked as the sparks around the door got brighter and more intense.

“I’m on it,” Remy said. He hopped back out of the car and ran over to Petrovich’s prone body. He picked up the plasma rifle that sat just a few feet away and aimed it at the domed ceiling.

“Remy!” Betsy called out. “What are you--”

A large ball of light shot forth from the gun, cutting her off, and connecting with the ceiling, causing it to explode. Some shrapnel rained down from above, but the ceiling for the most part merely tore open from the extreme heat of the blast. The hole it left would be just big enough.

“Alright,” Remy said. “Let's--”

There was something about the expression on his teammates’ faces that Remy noticed before he saw the blade sticking out of his chest. As it retracted, he turned and fell to his knees, seeing Danger looking down on him, her hand transforming back from a blade.

Collective shouts of “Remy” and “Gambit” came from the car. All were ready to jump out and help him when the doors burst open and a slew of Reavers poured into the garage, rifles aimed and firing.

“We have to go,” Bishop said and pulled back on the controls, guiding the Fantasticar upwards.

“We can't leave him,” Laura said. Her hands clutched the side as if ready to jump down, but a hand held her shoulder back.

“We have to,” Betsy replied as they ascended through the hole in the ceiling. And everyone knew she was right.

#

The flight back to the Barada was sullen and quiet, especially after Lorna passed out from exhaustion and what they could only assume was dehydration. After they landed, the woman was carted off by Beast and Cecilia Reyes, who were radioed ahead of time, leaving only the remaining three, who eventually split without a single word to recover in their own way.

Everyone went to their separate rooms, not saying a word to anyone.

After a shower, Bishop found Betsy in the lab, still bruised and covered in soot, poring over what looked like footage taken of the Medmenham job through Bishop’s glasses. Even before he stepped into the room, she could smell the musk of his deodorant coming from him.

“Thought I might find you here,” Bishop said. He was in a pair of sweats and a tank top. “You need a break, Betsy.”

“No,” she said. The loop he watched showed Danger impaling Remy, over and over. “Every second that ticks by is another second that we are closer to Blink’s future.”

“Well, I fail to see how torturing yourself with this helps us.” He walked over and leaned back on the table to be able to face the woman. “We will figure out the problem. Hell, we can get back to work this evening. But right now, you need a second to rest and collect your thoughts.”

“My thoughts, Bishop. I know exactly where the problem lies,” she said and looked up at him. Tears began to crest her eyelids. “It's me.”

Bishop frowned. “What do you mean?”

“That was a bloody disaster, but it's my disaster,” Betsy said. “I'm the one who led us there without sufficient intel and I got Remy killed and almost got Laura killed as well.”

“With our timeframe and the stakes, anyone would've made that decision,” Bishop said.

“But a less broken leader would have held it together,” Betsy said. “You think Scott would have let that happen?”

“No,” Bishop said and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You are not broken.”

A tear in Betsy’s eye began to escape but was quickly intercepted by the swipe of her hand. “You and I both know that isn't true. I can't get my bloody powers to cooperate and the training wheels that I had for a moment were taken by a deranged scientist from another universe. I should never have taken this job.”

Bishop got down to one knee so he could meet her eye-to-eye. “You know, it wasn't Scott’s idea to give you this job.”

Betsy shook her head. “If that's your idea of helping, then no wonder your future is such a dismal place.”

“It was mine.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I knew you would be important to changing the timeline, even if you didn't know it yourself.”

“How could you know?” Betsy asked.

“It’s...hard to explain. For starters, you’re dead in that future. You were supposed to be dead a long time ago. The fact that you're even alive gives us a heads up. And when it comes to Remy, well...let’s just say the jury’s still out on whether his death helps or hurts us.”

Betsy sighed. “Well, it looks like we might have someone on the inside at least.”

Frowning, Bishop replied, “What do you mean?”

Betsy nodded towards the computer and booted it back up, bringing up the footage of Remy’s stabbing. It was paused just before Danger ran her blade through his back.

“Watch,” she said and played the recording. Remy picked up the plasma rifle. Then Danger stood up behind him. Then Remy fired the gun and after a moment, the robot stabbed him.

“What am I looking at here?” Bishop asked.

“Watch,” Betsy repeated herself. Again, she played the clip. Remy picked up the plasma rifle. Then Danger stood up behind him. Then Remy fired the gun and after a moment - a very quick moment - the robot stabbed him.

“She waited,” Bishop said. “She could have taken her shot at him right when she got back to her feet but she waited until he fired off the rifle so we could escape.”

“So, the question is ‘why’?” Betsy asked. “Why would Danger let us escape?””

“Well,” he said and swallowed. “About that. I think we need to talk.”

#

Danger found McCoy in the wreckage of his lab, still a little soot-covered, putting the finishing touches on a suture on Remy’s chest. The thief, himself, lied unconscious.

“How is he, Dr. McCoy?” she asked.

“Alive,” he replied and leaned in to bite the thread, cutting it. He tied it off and slapped a bandage over the wound. “If you don't mind me asking, why did you stab him in a way that you missed every vital organ? Why not just kill him?”

“Because, the X-Force has one of our prisoners. I thought it only fair to take one for ourselves.” Danger paused. “He'll be of use to us. If not, he will hopefully be of use to you and your important work, Doctor.”

A wicked grin spread over the Dark Beasts face. “Touché, my queen. What would you like with him now?”

“I will take him,” Danger said. “Our king will want to speak with him personally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! Probably won't be posting for a while. I'll be working on some big projects in the next couple months, but I'll probably still be working on this stuff off-and-on.


End file.
